


No, No, the Night is Dull

by misha_collins_butt



Series: I Knew I Loved You [13]
Category: Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Damaged, Dean likes to read, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Fluff, Fluff, High School, Highschool AU, M/M, Oop, Past rape for tw, Sabriel - Freeform, Smut, and her mother was also amazing, anyway, background ships, cas is damaged, dean doesn't rape cas don't worry, destiel smut, fathers are dickbags tbh, got a little, its like, just all the dudes are fuckin' douchebags, like Mary was the only good one, sabriel on your writing there, why is every parent in SPN such an asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 19:41:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5978878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has trouble even being alive because when he was younger he was raped and that's really affected his life for the worse. </p><p>But then this fucknut named Dean comes along and turns that all around by being a lil spork and showing Castiel what careful love is.</p><p>****WARNING: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENT OR DISPLEASURABLE SITUATIONS.****</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Will Not Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooo this sucks and it's so short but I'm so squeezed on time that it's difficult to find motivation and places to actually write. Sorry if it's shitty :/

_He tries to push him away again but he's heavier and stronger than his own frail bones. His screams and cries for help, his pleas for the man to stop go unacknowledged as teeth latch onto his neck._

He sits up, a steel rod in his spine, sweat dribbling down his cheeks to find Micheal's concern-twisted face scanning his own. Michael calms with a slow exhale and release's Castiel's shoulders, backing away to the window and taking the string to open the blinds in his hand, head hanging.

"You were screaming again."

"I'm sorry."

Michael looks up with teary eyes and a frown bent mouth.

"Please don't apologise," the older man whispers, before turning and pulling the blinds open in a flash of morning light that makes Castiel squeeze his eyes shut. He speaks again, facing the window. "Dad should be the only one apologising for letting what happened happen."

"Dad's dead."

Michael doesn't say anything, eyes trained on some imagined white sand beach in the distance.

Castiel slumps back against the wall, arms flopping to his hips.

Michael moves back around to him, and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Castiel," he starts, reaching out a shaking hand, which he stops from making contact with Castiel's arm mid-reach. Castiel stares at it, uncomprehending, understanding that even his closest brother, Gabriel, is afraid to touch him. "Castiel," he repeats, recoiling. "What happened was...it hit us all hard...and I know you got the worst of it...at the same time, the nightmares should be gone by now. So I need to know...has anything else--"

"No. Stop asking."

Michael sits silently, breathing shallow. Then he shifts and stands, walking toward the door. He turns back at the last second.

"Feel like going to school today?"

"Not really. Have to try, though, right?"

Michael doesn't say anything else. Exits, leaving Castiel to his tormented thoughts, and the dark void that was once his heart.

\----

Two pans clang together as he enters the kitchen. Lucifer swivels with raised brows and half-smiles, then returns to sliding the eggs onto the the counter next to the stove.

"Michael says the nightmares are getting worse."

"How the hell would he know," Castiel drops into a stool beside Gabriel, who greets him with a beaming, but wan smile.

"He's a psychic," Gabriel flutters his fingers around his face with wide eyes and Castiel rolls his own.

"Don't be an asshole," Lucifer replies, starting the burner.

"' _An_ asshole' isn't very specific. Which asshole can't I be?" Gabriel quips.

"Go feed the dog, dumbass."

Gabriel sticks out his tongue once Lucifer's turned back around, then turns to Castiel and makes a face. He leaves just as Michael enters, shoving the elder out of the way, muttering "smooth move, grandpa" and flipping him off.

"Dumbass," Michael repeats Lucifer's earlier resentment and goes straight for the fridge, pulling out the gallon of milk and carton of orange juice.

"Hungry?" Lucifer mumbles at the eggs. Castiel replies with a short no, un-meaning to sound so coarse.

Lucifer doesn't seem to notice though, or he ignores it, knowing Castiel is still healing.

Shouldn't be. It happened years ago. But every night, he's still able to feel those disgusting calloused hands holding down his arms, running down his body, forcing his legs open. He can still hear those hushing lips against his ear, whispering for him to "shut up, or I'll beat you". He can still taste the salty tears streaming from his eyes, into his open mouth, across his nose. He can still smell the wet concrete beneath his thrashing body as he swung his head back and forth, back and forth in a fruitless attempt to be released from the man's ruthless grip.

A hand lands on his shoulder he jumps about a foot in the air. The hand snaps back quickly, towards its respective body.

"Sorry, you seemed lost. I got worried," Michael's voice vibrates from the body and Castiel breathes out.

"I'm fine."

"Okay," Michael nods, stepping back to the side of the island to pour more orange juice into a half empty cup.

Gabriel re-enters in an explosion of dog fur and saliva.

"She fucking attacked me!" He screams, swiping spit from the right side of his forehead and his cheeks. "She just leaped up and started licking my entire face!"

"Did you even get to putting food in the dish?" Lucifer asks with bored eyes.

"Hell no! What do you think?" Gabriel snarls and dusts himself off, then reclaims his seat next to Castiel. "Look like you've seen a ghost, Cassie."

"Don't call me that," he whispers without malice or the energy to have any.

Gabriel is silent for an excruciating moment before, in an almost imperceptible voice, he whispers back, "I'm sorry."

Castiel only shakes his head. Grumbles an 'it's fine' before turning on the stool and shuffling back upstairs.

He is a burden. He is worthless. He is faulty. Defective. Garbage. Undeserving.

He sleeps for another four hours.


	2. And Where Have You Been

_His body slams against the concrete floor of the tool shed, and he hears something heavy and metal clatter to the ground beside him. He cries out in pain and tries to sit up, but is pushed back so forcefully he nearly cracks his skull on the solid surface beneath him. The tears rush to his eyes and he attempts to scream but a sweaty palm smacks down across his mouth, and another slides up around his neck. He can't breathe. He can't breathe._

A freshman yelling down the hallway pulls him back into the classroom, where a stern-looking substitute teacher squeaks her last name onto the whiteboard with a black dry-erase marker.

Someone Castiel doesn't recognise walks through the door and takes the remaining empty seat which once contained a girl named Claire, next to him.

The boy - man, really, in every sense - sports dirty blonde hair, spiked in a careless way, and a dark brown leather jacket, under which rests a blue flannel shirt and a black t-shirt. His jeans are worn, faded, and his boots are slightly lighter than the jacket that it's really too warm in this room to be wearing.

His head snaps toward Castiel's intrigued gaze and the stranger offers a shy half-smile. Castiel doesn't smile back. Turns his head around to watch his beige desk with regret.

When he looks up, 'Ms. Furth' stands at the front of the room, holding a stack of papers that Castiel assumes are packets they're being forced to do instead of actual work today, which is perfectly find with him, considering he hasn't been here for half the unit.

The packets (which, they are, indeed) are passed back and Castiel purses his lips inward at the text.

Oedipus.

Didn't they learn about this in year eight? A bit redundant but at least Castiel paid enough attention to be able to complete whatever kind of worksheet they'll indubitably get with this without a hitch.

The new kid turns to him when the teacher leaves to break up a loud group of students in the hall and taps his shoulder.

Castiel jumps and looks up with wide eyes.

"Pretty immersed in that, uh, ancient history, huh," the man whispers, brows raised.

Castiel shakes his head and turns back to the wasted paper.

"No...just...thinking," Castiel mumbles, tracing his finger between paragraphs of twelve point font. Times New Roman. Double spaced. Temporary distraction in a watermark at the bottom.

The man waits a second and then continues, "So, you usually get shit like this in this class?"

Castiel chuckles - genuinely - for the first time in seven years.

"No. Substitute today. We already read about this in eighth grade anyway."

When he looks back at the other boy, he's nodding in understanding. Then he says, "I'm Dean" and holds out his hand for Castiel to shake.

Castiel is utterly terrified. If he doesn't shake this boy's hand, what will he think. If he does, he might break down in an anxiety attack. And still then what might this Dean assume.

"Castiel," he replies, taking Dean's hand.

A strange feeling in his stomach strikes him with awe. He feels anxious. But he doesn't feel like pulling away in disgust or making his heart settle.

Dean's hand is warm, soft, careful. The hand of a wise man who knows how to take care of people, who loves gently and wholly, who believes in the things everyone else is too scared to believe in. His touch is inviting and sweet. It welcomes Castiel into a world he hasn't seen.

He realises he hasn't released Dean's hand and goes to pull away before he notices Dean's perpetual smirk has faded into something soft and welcoming. His eyes are trained on Castiel as if he's lost in the chocolate brown bed head that rests atop Castiel's scalp.

He seems to realise Castiel is staring back and he breathes in suddenly, pulling away gently. He doesn't say anything more, but his cheeks are painted pink as he smiles faintly at his desk.

Castiel watches him for a second longer in awe, then turns back to the packet.

What just happened?

\----

"Guess who I met today!" Gabriel sings, floating through Castiel's door with a bounce in his step.

Castiel cocks a brow, head turned away from the television. Eyes out the window.

"The cutest kid just moved in down the block, Castiel. I have to tell you about him."

Castiel only breathes in a sigh and bends his legs into a pretzel so Gabriel can sit opposite him at the end of the bed.

"Okay, so he's tall, really a pretty boy, beautiful brown mop of unruly hair," Gabriel begins, crawling up onto the mattress. "He's got these sharp cheekbones, and-and, Castiel. His eyes. His eyes are like...they look like they each ate a sunflower. They're rainbows. In his head. His name is Sam. Met him while I was waiting for you to come out to the car when I picked you up from school."

"He's still in school?"

"Well, yeah, but--"

"Gabriel, you're almost nineteen. Even if he likes you back, it's illegal to chase him in such a sexual way."

"Oh come on, Cas! He says his brother knows you."

Realisation dawns and Dean's soft face pops into his head. He recalls a conversation they had when they bumped into each other in the hallway later in the day about each of their siblings. The Sam that Gabriel is talking about is Dean's younger brother.

"Gabe, he's a _junior_ ," Castiel's face twists into shock and disgust.

"Even better," Gabriel waggles his brows and Castiel's eyes widen.

"I can't believe you would say something like that," Castiel whispers.

Gabe's face drops and he replies, "Cas, I didn't mean--"

Castiel doesn't wait to hear another word before throwing the blanket off his lap and standing to leave.

Before he can take more than a step, Gabriel says "wait, Cas--" and his hand shoots out and clamps around Castiel's wrist.

Castiel gasps and rips his arm from Gabe's hand, turning with a terror-twisted face, eyes wide and shining.

Gabriel's hand recoils so quickly, his elbow snaps in complaint.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Cas, I am so sorry I didn't mean to--"

"I'm fine--"

"I'm sorry--"

"Gabriel, it's fine," Castiel breathes, standing with numb hands and iron-weighted legs in the middle of his bedroom, avoiding Gabriel's eyes.

"Please don't leave..." A small voice hidden in the shadows of Gabriel's shamed mouth, coaxing Castiel to sink into a beanbag chair. It's silent for so long that Castiel feels like leaving again, but Gabriel speaks up with a quiver in his words. "I am so sorry, Cas...I know...god, I know I shouldn't touch you. I didn't mean to. I just..."

He trails off, dropping his head, hands limp in his lap. His breaths start to hitch, alerting Castiel to tears on his older brother's face.

Castiel reaches up, pulls back. Reaches up again, tentative. His hand lands on his brother's forearm, and Gabriel's eyes widen at it, then swing upward to stare, incredulous, at Castiel.

"I know."

Castiel breathes in deep, mustering what little courage he can. Shoots up, wrapping his arms around Gabriel's neck, where he feels the gasp drag through Gabriel's throat before it's released from between his lips.

"Am I allowed to hug back?" Gabriel whispers, and Castiel nods violently. Squeezes him tighter as his arms come up around Castiel's ribcage and pull him in tight.

Tears well up in Castiel's eyes and drip onto Gabe's grey Star Wars t-shirt, spreading out to create a darker shade. And he cries. And he buries his face in Gabriel's shoulder, body shaking, back twitching with every inhale.

Gabriel lets out a breath of long held air across Castiel's neck and squeezes him closer, head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Do you want me to let go?"

"Don't."

Castiel falls asleep on his brother's tear-stained shoulder, arms around his neck. Curled up in Gabriel's lap just like when he was little.

Like when things were good.


	3. Late Afternoon and Memories of Woe

"I think we should hang out some time," Dean suggests, shoving his English textbook into the light grey locker, on top of three other textbooks and a thick novel checked out from the school library that looks nearly finished. Odd. He's only been here for a week. "Like. At my house or something." He shrugs, turning to Castiel. "We have a tv and a shit-ton of books. Not much to do but my dad is rarely awake and Sam's hanging out with some chic who thinks she's gonna get some today after school so we'd basically be alone."

Castiel's brows hop up into his hairline and Dean's cheeks flush bright red.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I just...I meant we can talk about whatever and no one would hear," Dean corrects himself and when Castiel only tilts his head down, Dean turns back to his locker, chewing his lip. "Sorry."

"I think that sounds nice," Castiel says quietly, hand absently squeezing Dean's forearm before he realises he's touching the younger man and tries to pull back. Dean's hand lands on his, though, and he doesn't feel the urge to remove it or slap it away.

Dean's eyes meet his and Castiel's lips part as he gets lost in the field of green surrounding Dean's slowly dilating pupils.

"I..." Castiel says suddenly, not knowing where he wanted to go with that or why he spoke at all. "I have to get to second period." He slips Dean the small scrap of paper he scribbled his number on without breaking eye contact. "I'll see you after school," he adds, just a whisper, and before he can think to step away, his foot pushes him forward and his lips press against Dean's cheek.

When he pulls back, he welcomes the glance he gets if Dean looking down at him in delighted shock, then he slips away into the dwindling crowd of stragglers, Dean's eyes following after him.

\----

The day passes in a blur of bored students, boring lessons, and boredom-filled, monotone teachers. Castiel passes two quizzes, bumps into about fifteen different people in the over-populated halls, and nearly punches someone in the nose for poking his back to ask him a question. This is why he doesn't go to school all that often. Nobody here knows. It's a larger town than the one he grew up in and so far away from where it happened that there's no way the story got here.

So, of course, there's no way for them to know that he's basically off limits for touching.

This is probably part of the reason the only friend he's ever made here is Charlie, a red-headed Avengers geek, tough as nails lesbian girl who never shuts up about her girlfriend of two years, Dorothy.

But she's worth the slightly annoying gushing because she's loyal as a dog, and she knows. She knows what happened. She respects Castiel's space. She's never even come close to touching him, not once.

Of course, just as he thinks this, Dean's warm hand taps his arm and he swivels to find Dean, brow raised, backpack slung over one shoulder and car keys dangling from his hand.

"Hey, spacey. Still wanna come over?"

Castiel only smiles, and follows him through the winding hallways out to the parking lot.

Dean leads him to a shiny black car, obviously old but somehow mint condition. The silver Chevrolet brand on the back catches his eye and he recognises it as an old Impala. He's not sure what year, but it's definitely not from after 1990.

Dean throws his pack in the backseat and slams the door. Squeaks the driver's side open and looks up at Castiel expectantly.

"Coming?"

Castiel opens the passenger door and slides into the front seat, old black leather against his black denim. The door closes with ease and he notices there are no safety belts in the entire car.

"What happened to the--"

"My dad cut them all off when he was young 'nd stupid," Dean reads his mind, smirking, keys swinging around on his finger. "Luckily," he continues, shoving the keys in the ignition and starting the car. "This baby's never been in a single crash." He runs his hands over the steering wheel with affection and turns his loving smile to Castiel. "I'm the only one that drives her anymore," he says proudly, as if the car is an exclusive girlfriend of some sort. Then his smile fades and he pulls out of the parking spot and weaves through the lot. "Dad hasn't left the house in a while."

"What's it like?"

Dean turns off onto the road toward the poorer part of the neighbourhood, and furrows his brows.

"What's what like?"

"Having a dad...as a teenager?" Cas asks, voice hiding in the corner of his mouth.

Dean takes his eyes off the intersection they've stopped at to examine Castiel's face, trying to decide whether he's just joking.

"You're dad walk out or something?" He finally asks, pulling forward across the intersection.

"He was stabbed to death," Castiel leaves out the part where the stabbing was done by another prison inmate wielding a broken piece of glass from the vending machine tipped over in a fight his father started.

"Oh..." Dean whispers, eyes scampering across the cracked pavement in front of him. After a long while in silence, and several left turns and lane changes later, Dean asks, "You miss him?"

"No," Castiel answers with an assured stone voice. "He wasn't there for me at all growing up and...and he let something happen to me that I can't forgive him for."

He fails to elaborate further. Best to not ruin whatever he has with Dean so soon. It took him three years just to tell Charlie what happened. Why should this be any different.

Castiel listens to Dean swallow air, and watches a brown spotted bird flit from an oak tree as they hang a right into a slightly more privileged part of the North side.

Dean pulls up into the driveway of a two story, dark blue house with colonial style white shutters framing each of the windows. A cream-white hammock sways on its ropes between two leafy trees and a lonely sandbox, long-forgotten by childhood imagination, stands in the corner of the brown-fenced backyard.

Dean leaves his backpack in the back and before Castiel realises what he's doing, Dean's opening he passenger side door and smiling softly at him.

Castiel ducks beneath the roof of the Impala and stands back so Dean can close the door.

"No backpack?"

"I don't go to school as often as you might think. This week has been a record," Castiel explains, stepping forward to let Dean know he's ready to go in.

Dean stands in front of him, eyes slanted, fingers still wrapped around the handle.

Castiel's heart speeds up and he flashes back to seven years ago.

The dirt and dust from the concrete floor that flowed from his body and hair into the drain as he stood sobbing in the shower, trying his best to hold himself up, to just breathe. The red marks and scratches, the rawness of his skin because he would stand in the shower for hours, scrubbing away, trying to get rid of the feeling of those grimy fingers pressing into him, the feeling of the leaves crunching in his hands as he balled them up, trying to hold still and leave his own mind for a while, the feeling of the cold ground against his neck and through his shirt.

His breaths start shaking and he backs away. But Dean doesn't make a move to catch him. He simply stands there with a sort of half-worried, half-confused look on his face and his hand slipping from the door.

"Hey, whoa, Cas what's going on?"

Castiel screws his eyes shut, realising how stupid he's been, how stupid he was to think Dean of all people would hurt him.

He breathes out again and opens his eyes, muttering an apology.

"Hey," Dean's finger hooks under his chin and, incredibly, he doesn't pull away. Only looks up into those soft forest eyes. "What just happened there? Was that some sort of panic attack? 'Cause, honestly, I don't wanna be the reason you hyperventilate."

"I'm okay."

Dean's eyes scan his face, lingering on his mouth, then he drops his hand, gnawing on his lip. He jerks his head toward the house in a gesture to follow him and starts toward a white front door with an intricately designed window in the centre, bracketed by two thin floor to ceiling windows.

He doesn't even have to unlock it, just turns the knob and pushes it open with his shoulder.

Dean turns his attention to a snoring, blanketed form on the couch in the living room, and rolls his eyes, telling Castiel to "wait here" before he sneaks over, shuffles around the couch, and bends down between the couch and the coffee table. When he comes back up, he's holding an empty bottle of what looks like cheap liquor and he grabs an empty glass as well as he passes back around to the back of the couch and walks towards Castiel.

He crosses the hallway into a kitchen and sets down the glass with a clink next to a white acrylic sink, and opens the door to an empty garage and drops the bottle into a plastic recycling bin.

Castiel realises maybe not having a dad at all is better than having one you have to baby.

Dean apologises and leads him up a set of stairs to a small landing with a hallway shooting out to one side. Three white doors border the creamy yellow corridor, one on the left, one on the right, and one at the end.

Dean leads him to the one at the end and pushes it open, and the smell of Old Spice, old leather, unpolished wood, and cigarette smoke fills Castiel's nostrils and sets his senses blazing. The room is decorated with posters of bands from the 70's and 80's, and a queen sized bed is pushed into the far corner, sided by a nightstand table with a lamp and a clock that doubles as a radio.

A handcrafted wooden bureau stands on the opposite side of the wide window. Atop it, various random items including deodorant, two packs of gum, three golden wrestling trophies and a silver one, and a painting of some kind of sports car.

Dean reaches into his front pocket and sets onto the bedside table a pack of Marlboros and a silver zippo.

"Your dad lets you smoke?"

Dean turns, eyebrows surprised, but then his cheeks burn fuchsia and he runs his hand up the back of his neck.

"Uh...more like he just...doesn't care..." He starts, and sinks down onto his bed. "S'pose you think it's not very sanitary, huh."

"It's hot," Castiel says without thinking, and, realising his mistake, drops his eyes and pulls his lips between his teeth.

"Most people just assume I'm an asshole because of it, so that's better than the reaction I usually get."

Castiel looks out the window as a car rumbles by the house and then back at Dean, who pats the blue comforter beside him.

Castiel hesitates, a pause in his step as he starts forward and sits, cross-legged at the end of the bed, a little farther than a normal person would sit from a friend.

"So where's your mum?" Dean inquires, bending to untie his boots and slide them off by the heel. "I mean since your dad isn't around."

Castiel picks at his socks, lips opening to answer. Unsure. Can he trust Dean?

"I'm...the youngest of four. My mum died giving birth to me. Then when it was just my dad everything went downhill. My oldest brother, Michael, had to get two jobs to repair the car that my dad crashed in a drunk driving accident because my dad was so depressed he couldn't even remember the password for the savings account at the bank." Castiel sits back, using his arms to hold himself up, but only looks at Dean's now crossed legs. "He used to be this famous writer so we have, like, millions in saved cash at the bank, but he was devastated even after four years. He never abused me or anything but he was just kind of...absent..."

Castiel's eyes shift to Dean's face, where he finds and intently listening, soft-eyed man, just wanting to figure out every detail to Castiel's complicated life, his dark past. He is an enigma to this boy and he is unraveling himself willingly and Dean is a clean sponge, a blank sheet of paper. A new journal to keep.

"Sorry. I'm rambling."

"Keep going," Dean shifts so he's leaning against the wall and Castiel watches with curiosity at the other man's intrigue.

"Well, my dad got jailed when I was eleven after a year long trial and three years later, some asshole teased him about the reason he was in there, which my dad decided was fist-fight worthy. A bunch of people got involved. Knocked over the vending machine. Some dude grabbed a shard of broken glass and stabbed him thirteen times in the chest. Guards didn't break it up until it was too late."

When Castiel's eyes meet Dean's again, the younger man looks stunned, and his long eyelashes tilt down as he shifts his gaze to the space between them.

"Tell me why he was in there?"

Castiel's eyes start skipping around the room and he tries not to start breathing hard again, and Dean must sense it because he rests a hand on Castiel's knee and tilts his head to catch Castiel's eye.

"Hey," he says. "Hey look at me. I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay."

"It's not," Dean surprises Castiel. "It's not. Something happened that obviously has lead to years of this...battle to not panic when certain things happen."

Castiel is silent, hand creeping forward to spread his fingers over Dean's.

"Will you at least tell me what your triggers are?" Dean asks, just a hushed voice hitting the frail window of silence between them and cracking it.

"I don't like being cornered," Castiel offers, fingers tracing across the back of Dean's hand. "I don't like...the smell of dusty concrete, or the leaves when they fall from the trees. I don't like dark spaces and...I especially don't like...calloused hands."

Castiel feels Dean's eyes following his every move. His every breath, soaking in every word as if they're visibly escaping through his lips.

"Okay," Dean nods, tilting his hand back and lacing his fingers with Castiel's

Castiel's never felt this way. About anyone.

And maybe it's time to let himself feel.

And maybe it's time to let someone else make him do it.


	4. And Your Lips are Magickal on Mine

_Whatever blunt object that's caused several deep purple marks across his ribs is being pressed against the side of his neck. Wind whistles against the back of the tool shed and Castiel tries to kick him off, but to no avail. He struggles again, trying to cry out through the hand clamped over his mouth, but it only makes things worse. Denim scrapes his bare legs, which he tries to close, and his feet scrape against the floor in his scrabbling attempt to escape. He feels blood dripping from his heels and the balls of his feet._

Dean shifts on the bed next to him, pulling him out of his reverie, and his eyes catch on the slender white and orange tube between Dean's lips as he chisels away at a block of light wood.

"Can I try?"

Dean's eyebrows dance upward and he shrugs, handing the block to Castiel, who shakes his head.

"No. The cigarette," Castiel clarifies, pointing to the stick of tobacco Dean's been sucking on for a few minutes.

He slips it out from between his lips and gives Castiel a look that reads 'are you fucking crazy'.

"No way. Not lettin' you get lung cancer or some shit," Dean points the chisel hammer at Castiel's face.

"That's not a good reason."

"Of course it is!"

"It's not."

Dean frowns at him, setting down the hammer. 

"Fine," Dean says, looking down at the block of wood. "It's just kinda gross to kiss someone who smokes."

Castiel knits his brows low over his eyes.

"Just don't want you to have to deal with that," Dean adds, throwing the chisel and hammer to the floor beside his bed and dropping the block of wood onto the back corner of his bedside table.

"I don't think that's true," Castiel retorts, folding his hands in his lap and pursing his lips.

He feels Dean's eyes on the side of his face. Dean leans forward toward his nightstand, puts out the cigarette, Cas watching every move, and leans back, spreading his arms in a wide gesture.

"Prove it," he says.

It doesn't take a genius to understand what Dean means and Castiel is a prodigy.

So he responds, "I've only known you for, like, a month."

"And I've fucked women an hour after I met them."

He shouldn't do it. He shouldn't want to do it. He knows it'll just end in his stomach swelling with anxiety and Dean trying to calm him down.

He crawls across the bed. He shouldn't be doing this.

He kneels beside Dean and slides his hand up over Dean's cheek. He's so stupid.

He swallows hard and presses their lips together. He shouldn't do it.

He pulls back, hot breath blowing back at him from against Dean's chin.

He shouldn't.

He kisses Dean again, this time, slotting his lips between Dean's, letting them slide together in sync. He tastes like oakwood and smoke, and minty gum.

He can't.

He starts breathing hard, opening his mouth, tongue tangling with Dean's, whose hands come up slowly, wrapping around his waist.

He needs to stop.

He swings his leg over Dean's thighs and climbs on top of him, holding Dean's face with both hands, swollen lips in motion. Dean's arm slides around his waist and pulls him flush against against his chest, hips touching through denim, hard crotches grinding.

He shouldn't.

He's so close that he's got to crane his neck to kiss Dean, lower back bent inward so their erections don't lose contact. They're both breathing hard, breathing each other in.

Dean's fingers skim just under Castiel's shirt and he pulls away suddenly, gasping for air, grabbing Dean's wrist to stop him.

Dean's lusty eyes are shadowed by his brows furrowing as his hands come to rest on Castiel's hips.

"What is it?"

"I just..." Cas clenches his jaw, a tear escaping over his lashes and trailing down his cheek as he looks down and away.

"Whoa, whoa, hey. Just tell me what I did.

"I can't."

Dean turns Cas's face back and holds it there with both hands, concern-ridden eyes still just a ring of green and a giant pupil.

Why is Cas scraping against his jeans zipper? Why is he still hard? Why can't he let go? This is dangerous.

"You can. You can tell me anything. Cas, what happened."

Castiel screws his eyes shut, a few more tears squeezing out, and he leans down, resting his head on Dean's shoulder, forehead to Dean's warm neck. Dean's capable arm comes up to circle his waist and Castiel just breathes for a minute.

"When I was ten years old..." He stops. Is he ready for this? To tell this home-wrecking secret to the one man he feels he can trust. To the only person who's loved him this way since what happened. The only person he's ever let in like this. "When I was ten, I was raped." He says it simply, voice catching at the end. Dean's head whips around and he stares at Cas in disbelief. "By the neighbour man whose toolshed I was helping to clean." He gulps down air, mouth dry. "And I told my dad. And he did nothing. And it happened again. And a third time, and a fourth. Seven, in total. My dad went to jail for child neglect and abuse because he never did anything to stop it."

Dean's chest heaves and his arms tense.

"Why...why didn't you tell me?" He stammers in horror, arm slipping from Castiel's waist. Castiel catches it, unwilling to let him go.

"Please don't leave," Cas whispers back, so quiet, voice so shattered. Begging for someone to hold onto. "Please."

"No. No, I wouldn't do that, Cas. I wouldn't do that to you," quiet as the wind, arm holding on tighter than ever. "I'll never leave you."

\----

"I've never actually had a romantic relationship because of it...because...I feel tainted. Dirty. Like I'm someone's property," Cas explains on the ride to school. Sam got a ride with Gabriel - which Cas is still uncomfortable with, no matter how small the age gap - so it's just him and Dean in the Impala, pinkies hooked between their thighs. "And every time I've tried to tell someone they've called me a liar or abandoned me...because they think I'm dirty too."

"You're not dirty. You're certainly not tainted. What happened to you is inexcusable and I can't even think of a stronger word than wrong. Despicable? Horrid? You didn't deserve it, and I'm 'nna keep saying these things 'til you believe me, no matter how long it takes, no matter if you don't believe me until we're old and wrinkled, sitting in rocking chairs in Florida, grumpy and arguing about mundane things," Dean pulls Castiel's hand all the way into his and squeezes. "Because you're worth the fight."

Castiel watches the side of Dean's face, then: "That was literally the cheesiest ending I have ever heard," he laughs, and Dean does too as he adds, "You romantic little shit."

When they've calmed, Castiel leans his head against Dean's shoulder, and whispers, "I think I love you, Dean Winchester."

Dean pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine, then turns, pulls Castiel into his lap, combs his fingers up through Castiel's hair, and whispers back, "I think I love you, too, Castiel Novak."

Then they're kissing. In Dean's car. In the school lot. While anyone could pass by or park next to them in the empty spot and see them. Their tongues are hot pressing into each other's mouths and Castiel is holding onto Dean's forearms, pushing them down, so Dean's hands are on his waist, their denim clad erections caught in a gyrating grind.

Dean's fingers push up under Cas's shirt and they both pause.

"Is this okay?" Dean breathes against Castiel's lips, and Cas nods, ever-so-slightly. He doesn't know if it really is, if he's really okay with it, but, God, he wants it. "Tell me to stop if I do anything wrong."

Castiel nods silently again and slams their lips back together, dragging their cocks together, Dean's hand, slowly, so slowly, sliding up his bare back, tracing his spine, his ribs with blunt nails.

There's a knock on the window and Castiel jumps at the same time as Dean, causing him to hit his head against the roof of the car.

He turns to find Charlie bending just outside the window. Raised brows and a gleeful smile.

"You're so cute!" She shouts just loud enough for her voice to be heard, muffled through the window. "But class is in, like, five minutes, guys!"

Dean cocks a brow. Cas rolls his eyes but swings off of Dean. Flops into the passenger side, slowly opening the door and dragging himself out.

The one time he was brave enough, the one time he thought he was ready to let someone touch him in a more loving, trustworthy way than he once was, the lesbian has to interrupt. He holds no malice towards her, but he's pretty pissed.

"Really Charlie? I think we both would've been okay with skipping English class," Castiel mutters, shutting the door as Dean crawls out and offers her a stiff smile and a warm hug.

"Too bad you love me," she snarks, arms tight around Dean's waist.

"What's shakin', little red," Dean says, pulling open the back door to grab his backpack.

"Okay, so there's actually ten minutes before class, so you probably could've pulled a quickie but I needed to ask you guys if you would go to the Winter Formal on a double date with me and Dorothy because--"

"Charlie, you know I don't do parties--"

"Please, Cas, Kevin and Macy cancelled on me because they're having some sort problem staying together and--"

"Charlie--"

"Please?" She whines, out of breath from speaking so quickly.

Dean glances across the top of the Impala. Tilts his head with a small smile, swinging his pack over his shoulder. Castiel sighs outwardly. Groans as he drops his head to the top of the car.

"Fine--"

Charlie squeals ecstatically and runs around the front of the car to squeeze his guts out.

"But!" Cas continues, one arm around her shoulders, one in the air with a pointed finger. "We are leaving at the very first sign of an anxiety attack."

"Agreed," she grins.

Dean swaggers around to meet Cas at the back of the car and takes his hand. Intertwines their fingers. And Charlie hooks her hand on Cas's elbow, and they head toward the school.


	5. So My End is Not So Near, After All

Castiel leans out the window to wave to Charlie as Dean skids away from the mall and yells at him to "oh my god, get the hell back in the car, you're gonna die, and I refuse to be the one responsible for that". Castiel obliges with mock contempt and crosses his arms over his chest.

Dean shakes his head, stops short at a stop light. Turns to him, reaches over, and pulls Cas toward the driver's side. Kisses his cheek and returns a hand to the wheel.

"I don't like you right now," Cas tries to repress his smile and turns his head away, but Dean just presses his lips to his neck, which makes Castiel panic a bit, memories of dry, unrelenting lips leaving bruises across his collarbones that he scrubbed and scrubbed as he watched himself sob in the mirror only to make the bruises worse.

Dean's gentle voice coaxes him out of it.

"Cas? Baby, what's goin' on in your head."

Cas turns his head slowly, not looking at Dean's face.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, knowing how stupid, how desperate he sounds, but Dean shakes his head and kisses Castiel's temple.

"I should be the one apologising. I know...I mean...just remember to tell me if I do anything that makes you go into panic mode, okay? I don't want to make you remember the things that happened."

Castiel nods, turning to plant a soft, close-lipped kiss on Dean's cheek, then resting his head on Dean's shoulder. "So, no neck kisses?"

Castiel chuckles, arms still folded over his chest, sinking sunlight hitting his eyes in waves as trees spring up and disappear in front of it.

"I think I could deal with it if weren't in such an enclosed space."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Cas nuzzles Dean's neck, and closes his eyes, warmth of a strong arm around his shoulders one of comfort this time.

\----

Castiel shuts the front door quietly before realising none of the lights are on.

"I don't think anyone is home yet," he whispers to Dean, whose finger is hooked in the back belt loop of his jeans, as if he might get lost in the dark.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Dean asks, pressing up behind him, free hand running up his side and lips finding the underside of his jaw.

"Well, yes, but nothing is happening right inside the front door because I don't know when they will be home, you asshat," Cas explains, despite tilting his head so Dean can reach him better.

Castiel shivers at a soft breath in his ear and Dean's voice humming through his veins like his rushing blood.

"I wanna see what you look like pressed up against a wall."

Castiel gets lost in Dean's soft, full lips just barely grazing behind his ear. Pushes back into his chest, allowing Dean's hand to slide from the belt loop and around to squeeze his hip, at which he shudders and nearly turns around just to see if Dean would really shove him against a wall and fuck him senseless. But then a pair of blinding headlights turn down the street and Castiel snatches Dean's hand and pulls him hard up the stairs to his room.

As soon as the door is closed, Dean does push him back against it, a hand on his hip, the other in his hair, tongue mapping out his teeth, licking into his mouth.

A sound like Cas has never made before tumbles through his lips and into Dean's throat, and Dean returns it eagerly, rolling his hips into Castiel's, hand sliding up, up, up through his hair, faces pressed so close together, Cas doesn't know where he ends and Dean begins. All he knows is that he wants Dean beneath him seven ways from Sunday and a hand down his pants because Dean's are gentle and kind and could probably bring a man to his knees, to tears, to the edge and over it, just with a touch.

He pushes Dean back, back until he hits the bed and they both fall into the mattress, laughing breathlessly against each other's lips, Dean's white wedding smile a beacon in the dark room.

Dean presses a hand up under Castiel's shirt again, eyes shining as he gazes up at him.

"This still okay?" He whispers. Shimmering eyes glint with a flash of fear before returning to their lust-blown olive green.

Castiel nods an 'of course', and his lips catch Dean's once more, softer, slower, as Dean's fingers wander up Castiel's spine, tracing his ribs, finger nails leaving pink crescents in his heated flesh when Castiel grinds down on his hips again.

Castiel sits up and pulls his shirt off, throwing it to the floor and pressing back down into Dean's chest. Lips swollen, sliding down to Dean's jaw.

He doesn't waste a moment pushing up Dean's shirt, tugging it over his head and shuddering at the feel of hot skin against skin, their chests heaving together, sweat and muscle in passion. Their harsh breaths fill the silent room, like a lone jogger down an alleyway. Dean sits up so Cas has to crane his back to kiss him, hands on either side of his neck, thumbs holding his jaw steady.

Dean's fingers are soft, almost careless, venturing down, down, down over Cas's lean muscle, skimming just over the waist band of his pants.

Castiel falters and Dean pulls away knowingly, hands pausing.

"Cas. Tell me. Do not be afraid to make me stop. Please don't let me do something that might hurt you," Dean begs. Pupils huge, eyes gleaming.

"I-I'm okay. I promise," Castiel dives back in for another kiss but Dean stops him, hand flat on his chest.

They lock eyes for what seems like an eternity of quiet. Pleading.

"You don't have to do this to prove yourself--"

"Dean. I'm not. I want you. I want you right now and I..." He's breathing hard, jeans tight at his crotch pressing against Dean. "Dean, I need you. Please. It's not...it's not to forget, it's not me being stupid, it's not so I can prove something, I need you. I just..." His hand slips from Dean's neck, down to his chest and he drops his gaze.

Dean surprises him. Lifts his lips with a sweet, barely there kiss.

"I believe you," he breathes out. A cloud of dust in the winter storm, pliable and inexplicably solid at the same time.

They move slowly, working each other's mouths open. Dean's fingers find Castiel's buttoned jeans, fumbling with the zipper and spreading his fingers down beneath the waist over Castiel's ass, pulling him impossibly closer.

Castiel's hand on Dean's shoulder turns into a claw, leaving red claims behind each nail when he scrapes them down. Dean moans out a breath, fingers tightening on Castiel's ass, eliciting a moan in return.

Castiel sits up on his knees and shoves his jeans down. Groans and backs away to stand and kick them off.

He watches Dean with a lidded gaze as the other man quickly undoes his own jeans, stripping them from his legs and letting them pool near the end of the bed. Castiel slides back up into his lap, Dean's hand finding his neck immediately, pulling him closer, breath against the hollow of his neck.

"God, you're beautiful," Dean sighs into the space between Cas's pectorals, lips dragging down, up, across to a nipple, leaving spit and the tingle that comes with his touch. "So beautiful, Cas. You're not broken," he breathes, lips brushing a pebbled nipple and grazing their way back to his collarbone, his neck. "You're not dirty. You're not claimed. You're so gorgeous...you're like the stars at midnight in the countryside, you're like a cherry blossom or some shit." Dean kisses up the centre of Castiel's neck, kisses the edge of his chin, his bottom lip. His eyes, shining like a beacon through the dark of the late afternoon, catch Castiel's. "I ain't a poet...but Cas, you're so beautiful." Eyes on his lips. Chaste kiss. "So beautiful."

Castiel only kisses him harder, hips grinding down into his. Moving together, swaying and breathing and moulding into each other's bodies.

Dean's fingers skim just inside the front of the waistband of his pants and Castiel doesn't stop, doesn't take a breath. Even when Dean pauses, Castiel just takes his hand and guides him down, down.

Dean pushes the elastic down past Castiel's cock, which bounces against his stomach, giving an interested jerk when Dean's thumbs press into the flesh just inside his hips.

They break apart and Dean offers a pleading look, to which Castiel simply shakes his head, kissing Dean's forehead.

"I told you, Dean. I'm okay. I want this." Dean smiles lightly as Castiel brushes short strands of hair back behind his ear. "I want you."

Dean stands with Castiel's legs around his waist, walks to the head of the bed, and falls back into it.

The freckled boy rolls them over, and Castiel gulps in air at the sudden pressure on his dick, which he can't help pressing up into Dean's.

Dean shifts, working his pants down and when he drops back down on top of Castiel, the older man nearly comes right then and there, arcing his hips up, letting them buck against Dean's pelvis.

"Easy there, tiger," Dean whispers against his ear, reaching between them to wrap his massive, incredible hand around both of them. "Don't worry. I'm gonna make you feel good."

Dean's hand pumps slowly, and Castiel wants more - now - hips gyrating into Dean's hand without him telling them to.

"Fuck," Castiel gasps against the crook of Dean's shoulder, trembling at his touch. "Fuck, please go faster, please."

"Sshhh," Dean hushes, speeding it up enough that Castiel's back comes up off the bed and Dean laughs darkly into his ear. "Jesus, Cas. Make some noise."

"I-" Castiel is cut short by Dean's hand speeding up again, so a growling moan escapes his throat. "Oh, God. Dean."

Hips swiveling, skin slick and sticky, and oh god the world could be flat and the sun could be green for all he cares, because Castiel's cheeks are burning, painted pastel pink as a sunrise over the mountains and his nails are growing roots in Dean's back and his hips are a foot off the bed because Dean's hands are calloused gold and his lips against Cas' ear are soft like daisies and _jesusmaryandjoseph_  he wants this, he's wanted this for a million years.

"DeanDeanDean," again, again, like a sparkling prayer blown out across the moonlit, mumble-waken night to twinkle among the stars. " _DeanDeanDean_." Again again.

Dean comes over their stomachs in thick white ropes with a gasp of 'Cas' distilling the humid air of a love being lived.

His hand pounds against the base of Castiel's cock, back up to the tip, back down, up, down, faster than the speed of light, and a scream tips from Cas' throat.

He comes hard, hands bearing red stripes down Dean's back and he's got tears in his eyes but he doesn't care doesn't care doesn't care because now, now, _now_ , Dean is leaning in and kissing him softly, so softly, and this is the happiest he's been in ages. The early spring moon glares at them through the open shades and cars zoom by outside and a pigeon takes off from the window ledge, and here he is with this God of Gods whispering love like a litany and white puddles smattering his stomach.

"I think I'm in love with you," Cas chokes out just before a sob and his arms slide warmly, protectively around Dean's shoulders and he lies there with Dean on top of him, a welcome weight, and the moon keeping watch, and the oblivious people blurring past, and the birds that release like funeral doves into the evening sky.

And all is right.

All is right.


End file.
